“What shall I say?” she began, “except one thing, that my will is the will of the gods, and if it is fated that I should be given to the white man in marriage, why, so let it be. For many years I was taught to look elsewhere, but he who was to have been my husband—” and she pointed towards Tikal—“chose himself another wife, and now I see that he did this not altogether of his own will, but because it was so decreed. One thing more. I, who am but a woman, have no desire to rule or to take the place that the Lady Nahua holds. The writing says that in a day to come, a far-off day, some child of mine, if indeed I am that ‘daughter of a chief whose name is the name of a nation,’ shall rule in truth. Let him then come in his hour and take the glories that await him, and meanwhile, Tikal, do you sit in your place and leave me to rest in peace.”
“The Lady Maya speaks you fair, Tikal, and my daughter,” said Mattai, “and if the people will have it, you may do well to accept her offer, leaving the future to shape itself. She says she is ready to take the white man as a husband, but we have not yet heard whether the white man will take her as a wife. It may be—” he added with a smile—“that he will rather choose to die; but at the least we must have an answer from his lips,—that is, if you accept this prophecy as sent from heaven. Say, do you accept it?”
“We accept it,” answered the Council almost with one voice.
“Then let the white man, Son of the Sea, be brought before us,” said Mattai.
Presently the door opened and the señor was led into the Sanctuary, as he thought to his death, for I saw that his teeth were set and that his hand was clenched as though to defend himself. But as he came the most of the Council rose and bowed to him, crying:
“Hail to you! Son of the Sea, Favoured of Heaven, Father fore-ordained of the Deliverer to come!”
Then he knew that the plot had succeeded, and he uttered a great sigh of relief.
“Hearken, white lord,” said Mattai, for Tikal sat still and scowled on him in silence; “the gods have spoken by their oracle. As Zibalbay thought, so it is, and your feet have been led for a purpose to the gates of the City of the Heart. Listen to the words of the gods,”—and, taking the tablet, he read to him the false prophecy. “Now choose, White Man. Will you take the Lady Maya to wife, or will you be put to death in that, having wandered to the City of the Heart, you refuse to obey the command of its gods?”
Now the señor thought and answered:
“The man would be foolish who hesitated between death and so fair and sweet a bride. Still, this is a matter that I cannot decide alone. What says the Lady Maya?”
“She says,” answered Maya, “that although this is a marriage for which she did not look, and it is a new thing that a daughter of the Heart should take a stranger of less ancient blood to husband, the will of Heaven is her will, and the lord that Heaven chooses for her shall be her lord,”—and she stretched out her hand to the señor.
He took it, and, bending down, kissed her fingers, saying:
“May I be worthy of your choice, Lady.”
Now I thought that the ceremonies were finished, and was glad, for I grew weary of assisting at this farce, but the old priest, Zibalbay’s foster-brother, rose and said:
“One thing more must be done, Brethren, before we leave this Sanctuary, and it is to swear in these strangers as members of the Council. They have wandered here from far, and here with us they must live and die, seeing that both of them know our secrets, and one of them is predestined to become the father of that great lord for whose arising we have looked for many generations, and therefore, until the child is born, he must be watched and guarded as priests watch a sacred fire.”
“Ay! it is well thought of. Let them be sworn, and learn that to break the oath is death,” was the answer.
Then Mattai rose, as Keeper of the Sanctuary, and said:
“You, White Man, Son of the Sea, and you, Ignatio, the Wanderer, a Lord of the Heart, do swear upon the holy symbol of the Heart, the oath to break which is to die horribly in this world and to be lost everlastingly in the worlds that are to be. You swear, setting in pledge your souls and bodies for the fulfilment of the oath, that neither by word nor sign nor deed will you reveal aught of the mysteries or the councils of this Brotherhood, whereof you will be the faithful servants till your deaths, holding it supreme above every power upon earth. You swear that you will not possess yourselves of the treasures of the City of the Heart, nor, without the consent of this high Brotherhood, attempt to leave its gates or to bring any stranger within its walls. These things you swear with your hands upon the altar, setting in pledge your souls and bodies for the fulfilment of the oath.”
Other clauses there were also which I have forgotten, but this was the substance of the vow that was dictated to us. We looked at each other helplessly, and then, there being no escape, we swore, kneeling before the altar, with our hands resting upon it.
As the solemn words of confirmation passed our lips, we heard a sound of the movement of heavy stones behind us.
“Arise now,” said the old priest, “turn, Brethren, and look upon that which lies behind you.”
We obeyed, and the next instant shrank back against the altar in alarm, for within six feet of us a massive stone in the floor had been lifted, revealing the mouth of a well, from the deep recesses of which came the distant sound of rushing waters.
“Behold, Brethren,” he went on, “and should the oath which you have sworn be broken in a single letter, learn after what fashion you must suffer for your sins. Into that pit you shall be cast, that the water may choke your breath, and the demons of the under-world may prey upon your souls through all eternity. Have you seen, and, seeing, do you understand?”
“We have seen, and we understand,” we answered.
“Then let the mouth of the pit be sealed again, and pray you in your hearts that it may never be opened to receive the living body of you or of any of us. Son of the Sea, and you, Ignatio the Wanderer, the oaths have been sworn, and the ceremony is finished. Henceforth till your deaths you are of our number, sharers in our rights and privileges, and to you will be assigned houses, attendants and revenues fitted to your station. Go forth, Brethren, that you may refresh yourselves, and prepare to meet the people upon the summit of the pyramid at dawn; that is, within an hour. Lead them away with you, my Lord Mattai.”
So we went, leaving behind us the talisman of the Broken Heart, for the priests refused to return it to me, saying that at length the tokens named Day and Night had come together in their ancient place, and henceforth there they must bide for ever. Accompanied by Maya, Mattai, and the escort of priests, we passed through the halls and passages out into the courtyard of the temple, and thence to apartments in the palace, where we refreshed ourselves with food, for we were weary.
The trick had succeeded, the ordeal was past, and for the present at least we were no longer in danger of our lives: more, the power of Mattai was confirmed, and his daughter was assured in her position as the wife of Tikal; and the señor and the Lady Maya were about to attain to the fulness of their desire, and to be declared one in the presence of the people. Yet never did I partake of a sadder meal, or behold faces more oppressed by care and the fear of the future; for, though nothing was said, in our hearts each of us knew that we had become parties to a crime, and that sooner or later, in this way or in that, our evil-doing would find us out. Putting this matter aside, I myself had good reason to mourn, seeing that, whatever the others had gained, I had won nothing; moreover I found myself bound by a solemn oath not even to attempt to leave this city whither I had journeyed with such high hopes. Well, the thing was done, and it was useless to regret it or to think of the future, so, turning to Mattai, I asked him what was to happen on the pyramid.
“There will be a great gathering of the people,” he answered, “as is customary at dawn after the night of the Rising of Waters, and there they will be told all that has happened in the Sanctuary, and then, if it is their will, Tikal will be confirmed as cacique according to the bargain, and either to-day or to-morrow the white man here will become the husband of the Lady Maya, in order”—he added with a sneer—“that of their union may be born the Deliverer who is to be. Now, if you are ready, it is time for us to go, for the multitude is gathered, and an escort waits us without.”
Leaving the palace we placed ourselves in the centre of a party of nobles and guards who were in attendance, and marched across the courtyard and up the steps of the pyramid. The night was growing grey with the breaking of the dawn, and in the pearly light, through which the stars shone faintly, we perceived that bands of priests and nobles, wrapped in their broidered serapes,—for the morning air was chilly,—stood in their appointed places round the altar. In front of them were ranged the dense masses of the people, drawn here to make their prayers upon this feast day, and also by desire to learn the truth as to the death of Zibalbay; the fate of the strangers who had accompanied him from the unknown lands; the decision of the Council as to the successor to the place and power of cacique; and lastly, whether or no the oracle of the god had spoken to his priests upon this or any other matter when the lost talisman was set in its place in the Sanctuary.
On reaching the altar, seats were given to us among the nobles of the Heart, those of Maya and the señor being placed in such fashion that they would be visible to the whole multitude.
Then followed a silence, till at length a priest who was stationed upon the roof of the watch-house blew a silver trumpet and proclaimed that the dawn was broken, whereon bands of singers who were in readiness began to chant a very beautiful hymn of which the refrain was caught up by the audience. As they sang, a beam from the rising sun struck upon the fire that burned above the altar, and again the trumpet sounded. Then, in the silence that followed, the priest who stood by the fire, clothed in white robes, prayed in a loud voice, saying:
“O god, our god, let our sins die with the dying year. O god, our god, strengthen us with thy strength, comfort us with thy comfort during the day that is to be. O god, our god, have pity upon us, lift us from the darkness of the past, and give us light in the coming time. Hear us, Heart of Heaven, hear us!”
He ceased, and from the surrounding gloom many voices made response, saying: “Hear us, Heart of Heaven, hear us!”
Then for a space the old priest stood still, the firelight flickering on his tall form and rapt countenance as he gazed towards the east. Greyer and more grey grew the gloom, till of a sudden a ray from the unrisen sun shot through the shadows like a spear and fell athwart the summit of the pyramid, paling the holy fire, that seemed to shrink before it. At the coming of the sunbeam the multitude of worshippers—men and women together—rose from the marble pavement whereon they had been kneeling in prayer, and, casting off the dark cloaks which covered their white robes, they turned, extending their arms towards the east, and cried with one accord:
“Hail to thee, O sun! bringer of all good things. Hail to thee, new-born child of god!”
Now the light grew fast, and soon the city appeared, rising white and beautiful from its veil of mist; and, as the glory of the daylight fell upon it, other priests who stood by the altar uttered prayers appointed to be offered upon this day of the beginning of the Rising of Waters. To the People of the Heart the occasion was a great one, seeing that but little rain falls in their country, and thus they depended for a bountiful harvest upon the inundation of the island and of the low shores that lay around the lake by its waters swollen with the melted snow of the great mountains on the mainland. When the waters retreated, then they planted their grain in rich land made fertile by the mud, without labour to themselves, whence, before the lake rose again, they gathered their corn and other crops.
When they had ended their praying, and gifts of fresh flowers had been laid upon the altar by beautiful children chosen for that purpose, Tikal blessed the multitude as high priest, and the simple ceremony came to an end.
Then Mattai rose to speak, telling the people all things that had happened, or so much of them as it was expedient that they should know. He told them of the death of Zibalbay, of the setting of the lost talisman in the symbol, and of the writing that was found therein, which he read aloud to them amidst a dead silence. Then he told them how the Lady Maya and the white man had consented to be married in obedience to the voice of the oracle; and lastly, how she, the Lady Maya, had desired that her cousin Tikal should continue to be cacique of the City of the Heart, that she might have more leisure to attend upon her heaven-sent husband, and to be at rest until that child was become a man, whose wisdom and power should make them even greater than their forefathers had been.
When he had finished his address there was much applause and other expressions of joy, and a spokesman from among the people asked when the marriage of the white man, Son of the Sea, to the Lady Maya, would take place.
This question she answered in person, saying modestly that it was her lord’s will that it should take place that very night in the banqueting-hall of the palace, and that a great feast should be celebrated in honour of it.
After this the talking came to an end, Tikal having said no word, good or bad, beyond such as the duties of his office required; and according to the custom of the country many people, noble and simple, came forward to congratulate her who was about to be made a bride. Weary of watching them and of hearing their pretty speeches, I took advantage of the escort of a friendly noble and went to see the ceremony of the closing of the flood-gate, a huge block of marble that slid down a groove into a niche prepared to receive it, where it was fastened with great bars of copper and sealed by certain officers, although, so I was told, the rising water would not reach it for another eight or ten days. Even though the flood should prove to be a low one, it was death to break those seals for a space of four full months, and during all this time any who would leave the city must do so by means of ladders reaching from the wall to little wooden jetties, where boats were moored. Afterwards we walked round the walls and through some of the main streets, and I marvelled at the greatness of this half-deserted place, for the most of it was in ruins, and at the many strange sights that I saw in it. Indeed, I think that Mexico, in the time of Montezuma, my forefather, was not more powerful or populous than this town must have been in the days of its prosperity.
About midday I returned to the apartments that had been assigned to me in the palace, and, hearing that the señor was still in attendance upon the Lady Maya, I ate my dinner alone with such appetite as I could find, and lay down to sleep awhile.
I was awakened from my rest by the señor, who arrived, looking merry as he used to be before ever Molas came to lead us to the old Indian doctor and his daughter, and full of talk about the preparations for his wedding that night. I listened to all he had to say, and strove earnestly to fall into his mood, but, as I suppose, without effect, for in the end he fell into mine, which was but a sad one, and began to talk regretfully of the past and doubtfully of the future. Now I did my best to cheer him, but with little avail, for he shook his head and said:
“Indian as she is, I love Maya, and no other woman has been or can be so much to me; and yet I am afraid, Ignatio, for this marriage is ill-omened, and I pray that what was begun in trickery may not end in desolation. Also the future is black both for you and for me. You came here for a certain purpose and will desire to leave again to follow your purpose; nor, although I take this lady to wife, do I wish to spend my days in the City of the Heart. And yet it would seem that, unless we can escape, this is what we must do.”
“Let us hope that we shall be able to escape,” I answered.
“I doubt it,” he said, “for already I have discovered that, though we be treated with all honour, yet we shall be closely watched, or at least I shall, for certain reasons. Still, come what may, I trust that this marriage will make no breach in our friendship, Ignatio.”
“I do not know, señor,” I answered, “though I think that for weeks its shadow has lain between us, and I fear lest that shadow should deepen. Also it has been fated that women and their loves should come between me, my ambitions, and my friends. From the moment that my eyes fell upon the Lady Maya bound to the altar in the chapel of the hacienda, I felt that her great beauty would bring trouble upon us, and it would seem that my heart did not lie to me. Now, under her guidance, we have entered upon a dark and doubtful path, whereof no man can see the end.”
“Yes,” he answered, “but we took that path in order to save our lives.”
“She took it, not to save her life, on which I think she sets little store, but to win a husband whom she desires. For my part I hold that it would have been better for us to die, if God so willed it, than to live on with hearts fouled by deceit, seeing that in the end die we must, but no years of added life can wear away that stain. Well, this must seem sad talk to the ears of a bridegroom. Forget it, friend, and rest awhile that you may do credit to the marriage-feast.”
Without answering, the señor lay down upon the bed, where he remained—whether sleeping or awake I do not know—till the hour of sunset, when he was aroused by the arrival of several lords and attendants who came to lead him to the bath. On his return other messengers entered, bearing magnificent robes and jewels, the gift of the Lady Maya, to be worn by him and by me at the ceremony. Then, barbers having trimmed and scented his fair hair and beard according to the fashion of this people, he was decked out like a victim for the sacrifice.
So soon as all was prepared, the doors were flung wide, and six officers of the palace came through them, bearing wands of office in their hands, accompanied by a troop of singing-girls chosen for their loveliness, which, to speak truth, was not small. In the midst of these officers and ladies the señor was placed, and, followed by myself, who walked behind with a heavy heart, he set out for the banqueting-hall. As we reached it the doors were thrown open and the singers set up a love song, pretty enough, but so foolish that I have forgotten it. We passed the threshold and found that the great hall was crowded with guests arrayed in their most brilliant attire, whereon the lamplight shone bravely. Through this company we walked till we reached an open space at the far end of the hall, around which in a semicircle sat the members of the Council of the Heart, Tikal and his wife being placed in the centre of them, having Mattai on their right, and on their left that old priest Dimas, the foster-brother of Zibalbay, who had administered the oath to us.
As we advanced, with one exception, all the Council rose and bowed to the señor. That exception was Tikal, who stared straight before him and did not move. Scarcely had they resumed their seats when the sound of singing was heard again, mingled with that of music, and far away at the foot of the long hall appeared a band of musicians playing upon pipes of reeds, clad in the royal livery of green, and crowned with oak-leaves. After the musicians marched, or rather danced, a number of young girls robed in white only, and carrying white lilies in their hands, which they threw upon the floor to be trodden by the feet of the bride. Next came Maya herself, a sight of beauty such as stirred even my cold heart, and caused me to think more gently of the señor, who had become party to a trick to win her. She also was arrayed in white, embroidered with gold, and having the symbol of the Heart blazoned on her breast; about her waist and neck were a girdle and collar of priceless emeralds; on her head was set a tiara of perfect pearls taken in past ages from the shell-fish of the lake, and round her wrists and ankles were bangles of dead gold. Her waving hair hung loose almost to her sandalled feet, and in her hand, as token of her rank, she bore a little golden sceptre, having at one end a great pearl, and at the other a heart-shaped emerald. On she came, or rather floated, her delicate head held high; and so strange and beautiful was the aspect of her face, that for my part, from the instant that I beheld it till she stood before me by the bridegroom, I seemed to see naught else. It was very pale and somewhat set; indeed at that moment Maya looked more like a white woman than one of Indian blood, and her curved lips were parted as though they waited for some forgotten words to pass them. Her deep-blue eyes also were set wide, and, beneath the shadow of their lashes, seemed full of mystery and wonder, like the eyes of one who walks in her sleep and beholds things invisible to the waking sight. Presently they fell upon the eyes of the señor, and of a sudden grew human, while the red blood mantled on her breast and arms and brow.
Then for me the spell was broken, and I glanced at Tikal and saw that on his face was that same look with which he had greeted Maya when, on the night of his own wedding-feast, he beheld her whom he believed to be dead, standing before him clothed in life and beauty. Eagerly, despairingly, he watched her, and I noticed that tears stood in his angry eyes, and that a gust of jealous rage shook him from head to foot when he saw her flush with joy at the sight of his white rival. From Tikal my glance travelled to the dark beauty at his side, Nahua, his wife, and I became aware that in this instant she grew certain of what perhaps before she only guessed, that in his heart her husband loathed her, as with all his soul and strength he loved the affianced of his youth who stood before him the bride of another man. Doubt, fear, rage looked out in turn from her ominous eyes as the knowledge went home, to be succeeded by a possessing misery, the misery of one who knows that all which makes life good to her is for ever lost. Then, pressing her hands to her heart for a moment, she turned aside to hide her shame and wretchedness, and when she looked up again her face was calm as the face of a statue, but on it was frozen a mask of unchanging hate,—hate of the woman who had robbed her.
Now the bridegroom and the bride stood together in the open space surrounded by the half circle of the Council of the Heart, among whom I was given a seat, while behind them were arranged the musicians and singing-girls, and behind these again pressed the glittering audience of marriage-guests. When all were in their places a herald rose and cried out the names and titles of the pair, reciting briefly that they were to be wed by the direct command of the guardian god of the city, by the wish of the Council of the Heart, and because of the love that they bore one another. Next, reading from a written roll, he published the text of the agreement whereby Maya renounced her right as ruler in favour of her cousin Tikal, and I noticed that this agreement was received by the company in cold silence and with some few expressions of disapproval. Lastly, from another roll he read the list of the honours, prerogatives, offices, wealth, houses, and servants which were thereby assigned to the Lady Maya and her consort, and also to myself their friend, for the maintenance of their rank and dignity and of my comfort.
Having finished his task, he asked the señor and Maya whether they had heard all that he had read by command of the Council, and, if so, whether they approved thereof. They bowed their heads in assent, whereupon the herald turned, and, addressing Tikal by all his titles, called upon him, in virtue of his priestly office and of his position as chief of the state, to make these two one in the face of the people, according to the ancient custom of the land.
Tikal heard him and rose from his seat as though to commence the service, then sank down again, saying:
“Seek some other priest, Herald, for this thing I will not do.”
At Tikal’s words the company murmured in astonishment, and Mattai, bending forward, began to whisper in his ear. Tikal listened for a moment, then turned upon him fiercely and said aloud, so that all could hear him:
“I tell you, Mattai, that I will be no party to this iniquity. Has such a thing been heard of before, that the Lady of the Heart, the highest lady in the land, should be given in marriage to a stranger who, like some lost dog, has wandered to our gate?”
“The prophecy——” began Mattai.
“The prophecy! I put no faith in prophecies. Why should I obey a prophecy written how, when, or by whom I do not know? This lady was my affianced bride, and now I am asked to unite her to a nameless man who is not even of our blood or faith. Well, I will not.”
“Surely, lord, you blaspheme,” answered Mattai, growing wrath, “seeing that it is not for the high priest to speak against the oracle of the god. Also,” he added, with meaning, “what can it be to you, who are not ten days wed to the lady at your side, that she to whom once you were affianced should choose another as her husband?”
“What is it to me?” said Tikal, furiously. “If you desire to know, I will tell you. It is everything. How did I come to break my troth and to take your daughter as a wife? Through you, Mattai, through you, the liar and the false prophet. Did you not swear to me that Maya was dead yonder in the wilderness? And did you not, to satisfy your own ambitions, force me on to take your daughter to wife? Ay! and is not this marriage between the Lady of the Heart and the white man a plot of yours devised for the furthering of your ends?”
Now, while all stood astonished, of a sudden Nahua, who hitherto had listened in stony silence, rose and said:
“The Lord Tikal, my husband, forgets that common courtesy should protect even an unwelcome wife from public insult.” Then she turned and left the hall by the door which was behind her.
Now a murmur of pity for the lady, and indignation at the man, ran through the company, and as it died away Tikal said: “Evil will come of this night’s work, and in it I will have no hand. Do what you will, and abide the issue,”—and before any could speak in answer he also had left the hall, followed by his guards.
For a while there was silence, then men began to talk confusedly, and some of the members of the Brotherhood of the Heart, rising from their chairs, took hurried counsel together. At length they reseated themselves, and, holding up his hand to secure silence, Mattai spoke thus:
“Forgive me,” he said, addressing the audience, “if my words seem few and rough, but it is hard for me to be calm in face of the open insult which has been put upon my daughter and myself before you all. I will not stoop to answer the charges that the Lord Tikal has brought against me in his rage. Surely some evil power must have afflicted him with madness, that, forgetting his honour as a man, and his duty as a prince and priest, he should dare to utter such calumnies against the god we worship, the white man whom the god has chosen to be a husband to the Lady Maya, and myself, the Keeper of the Sanctuary. There were many among you who held me foolish when, after much prayer and thought, to further what I believed to be the true interests of the whole people, I gave my voice in favour of the lifting up of Tikal to fill the place and honour of cacique in room of our late prince, Zibalbay, whom we thought dead with his daughter in the wilderness. To-day I see that they were right, and that I was foolish indeed. But enough of regrets and bitter talk, that make ill music at a marriage-feast. Tikal, the head of our hierarchy, has gone, but other priests are left, nor is his will the will of the Council, or of the People of the Heart for whom the Council speaks. Their will it is that this marriage should go forward, and Dimas, my brother, as the oldest among us, I call upon you to celebrate it.”
Now the company shouted in applause, for they were set upon this strange union of a white man with their lady, if only because it was a new thing and touched their imagination; and even those of them who were of his party were wrath with Tikal on account of his ill behaviour and the cruel affront that he had offered to his new-made wife.
So soon as the tumult had died away, the old priest Dimas rose, and, taking the hands of Maya and the señor, he joined them and said a very touching and beautiful prayer over them, blessing them, and entreating the spirit, Heart of Heaven, and other gods, to give them increase and to make them happy in a mutual love. Lastly, he laid a white silken cloth, which had been prepared, upon their heads as they knelt before him, and, loosing the emerald girdle from about the waist of the bride, he took her right hand and placed it upon the arm of the señor, then he bound the girdle round wrist and arm, buckled it, and in a few solemn words declared these twain to be man and wife in the face of Heaven and earth till death undid them.
Now the cloth was lifted and the girdle loosed, and, standing upon their feet, the new-wed pair kissed each other before the people. A shout of joy went up that shook the panelled roof, and one by one, in order of their rank, the guests pressed forward to wish happiness to the bride and bridegroom, most of them bringing some costly and beautiful gift, which they gave into the charge of the waiting-ladies. Last of all came the old priest Dimas, and said:
“Sweet bride, the gift that I am commanded by the Council to make to you, though of little value in itself, is yet one of the most precious to be found within the walls of this ancient city, being nothing less than the holy symbol of the all-seeing Eye of the Heart of Heaven, which, through you, men behold to-day for the first time for many generations. Wear it always, lady, and remember that though this jewel has no sight, yet that Eye, whereof it is a token, from hour to hour reads your most secret soul and purpose. Make your thoughts, then, as fair as is your body, and let your breast harbour neither guile nor evil; for of all these things, in a day to come, you must surely give account.”
As he spoke he drew from the case that hid it nothing less than that awful Eye which we had seen within the hollow of the Heart, when with unhallowed hands we robbed it, substituting the false for the true. Now it had been set in a band of gold and hung to a golden chain which he placed about the neck of the bride, so that the red and cruel-looking gem lay gleaming on her naked breast. Maya bowed and muttered some words of thanks, but I saw that her spirit failed her at the touch of the ominous thing, for she turned faint and would have fallen had not her husband caught her by the arm.
While the señor and his wife were receiving gifts and listening to pretty speeches, a number of attendants had brought tables laden with every sort of food from behind the pillars where they had been prepared, and at a signal the feast began. It was long and joyous, though joy seemed to have faded from the face of Maya, who sat neither eating nor drinking, but from time to time lifting the red eye from her breast as though it scorched her skin. At length she rose, and, accompanied by her husband, walked bowing down the hall to the court-yard, where bearers waited for them with carrying-chairs. In these they seated themselves, and a procession having been formed, very long and splendid, though I will not stay to describe it, we started to march round the great square to the sound of music and singing, our path being lit by the light of the moon and with hundreds of torches. Here in this square were gathered all the population of the City of the Heart, men, women, and children, to greet the bride, each of them bearing flowers and a flaming torch; and never have I seen any sight more beautiful than this of their welcome.
The circuit of the square being accomplished, the procession halted at the palace gates, and many hands were stretched out to help the bride and bridegroom from their litters. It was at this moment that I, who was standing near, felt a man wrapped in a large feather cloak push past me, and saw that he held something which gleamed like a knife.
By instinct, as it were, I cried, “Beware, my friend!” in Spanish, and in so piercing a voice that it caught the señor’s ear. He swung round, for already he was standing on his feet, and, as he turned, the man in the cloak rushed at him and stabbed with the knife. But, being warned, the señor was too quick for him. Springing to one side, with the same movement he dealt his would-be murderer a great buffet, that caused him to drop the dagger and sent him staggering into the dense shadow of the archway.
For some seconds no one seemed to understand what had happened, and when they did and began to search for the man, he was not to be found. Who he was, or why he had attempted this cowardly deed, was never discovered; but for my part I have little doubt that either Tikal himself or some creature of his was wrapped in the dark feather cloak, and sought thus to rid him of his rival. Indeed, as time went on, this belief took firm hold of the mind of the people, and was one of the causes that led to the sapping of Tikal’s power and popularity.
Very hastily the señor assured the lords in attendance who crowded round him that he had received no manner of hurt, and then, after speaking a few brief words of thanks, he withdrew into the palace with his wife, and I saw him no more that night.
The day of this marriage was to me the beginning of the longest and most weary year that ever I have spent in a long and weary life. Very soon I understood how it came about that Maya had learned to hate the City of the Heart in which she was born, its people, and its ways, and ardently to desire a new life in new lands. Here there was no change and little work; here, enervated by a cloying luxury, the poor remnant of a great civilisation rotted slowly to its fall, and none lifted a hand to save it. Since men must do something, the priests and nobles plotted for place and power indeed, and the common people listlessly followed this trade or that, providing food and raiment for the community,—not for themselves,—but there was little heart in what they did, and they took no pleasure in it. Basking in the eternal sunshine, they loitered from the cradle to the grave, hoping nothing, suffering nothing, fearing nothing, content to feast amid their crumbling palaces, and, when they were weary, to sleep till it was time to feast again, satisfying their souls the while with the husks of a faith whereof they had lost the meaning. Such were the people of whom Zibalbay hoped to fashion a race of conquerors!
Still, to this life they were born and it became them; indeed, they could have endured no other, for the breath of hardship must have melted them away as my Indian forefathers melted beneath the iron rule of the Spaniard, but to me it was a daily torment. Often I have beheld some wild creature pine and die in its prison, though food was given to it in greater abundance than it could find in its native woods, and like that wild creature was I in this soft City of the Heart.
The wealth I came to seek was round me in abundance, useless and unproductive as the dead hands that had stored it, and yonder in Mexico were men who by aid of that wealth might become free and great: but alas! I could not bring them together. I could not even escape from my gaol, for my every movement was watched. Yet I would have tried so to do had it not been for the señor, who, when I spoke of it, said I should be no true friend if I went and left him alone in this house of strangers. Indeed his plight was worse than mine, for he too soon grew utterly weary of this dreadful city of eternal summer, and of everything in it except his wife. For whole hours we would sit gazing on the wide waters of the lake, and make plan after plan whereby we might gain the mountains and freedom, only to abandon each in turn. For they were hopeless. Day and night he was watched, since here alone this people forgot to be indolent. They knew that their race was dying and, lifting no hand to save themselves, they preferred to pin their faith upon the prophecy which promised that from this white man should spring a saviour. Meanwhile, false though it may have been, the prophecy, or one part of it, was in the way of fulfilment, which in itself was a wonder to this people, among whom the births of children were so rare. At length that child was born—a son—and the rejoicing knew no bounds. Strangely enough, upon the same day Nahua also gave birth to a son, and great was her anger when she learned that it was not on her account or on that of her offspring that the people were so glad.
Within a few days of the señor’s marriage we heard that Mattai had been seized with sickness, a kind of palsy, together with a leprous condition of the arms that baffled all skill. For months he lay in his house, growing gradually worse, so said the physicians; but one night—I remember that it was three days previous to the birth of Maya’s child—he appeared before Maya, the señor, and myself, as we sat together in the palace looking out upon the moonlit garden. At first we did not know him, for never before had I seen a sight so dreadful. His body was bloated; one arm—his left—was swathed in bandages; his head shook incessantly; and the leprosy had seized his face, which was of a livid hue.
“Do not shrink from me,” he began, in a low and quavering voice, as he gazed upon us with his whitening eyes; “surely you should not shrink, seeing that all of you are partners in the crime that has made of me the loathsome thing I am. Ay! deny it if you will, but I know it. The vengeance of the god has fallen upon me, his false servant, and it has fallen justly. Moreover, be assured that on you also shall that vengeance fall, for the Eye has seen, the Mouth has told, and the Heart has thought upon your doom. Look upon me, and learn how rich are the wages of him who works iniquity, and by my sufferings strive to count the measure of your own. Perchance your cup is not yet full; perchance you have still greater sins to work: but vengeance shall come—I tell you that vengeance shall come here and hereafter. I did this thing for my daughter’s sake; yes, for love of her, my only child. She was ambitious and she desired this man, and I thought to assure greatness to her and to her children after her.
“But see how her wine has been turned to vinegar, and her pleasant fruits to ashes. Her husband hates her with an ever-growing hate; now they scarcely speak, or speak only to shower bitter words upon each other’s head. More,—not for long will Tikal be cacique of the City of the Heart, for his jealous rage has soured all his mind; his deeds are deeds of oppression and injustice; already he is detested by the people, and even those who loved him turn from him and plot against him. Do you know what they plot? They plot to make that child that shall be born of you, Maya, cacique in his room, and to set up you and your outland husband as regents till it shall be of an age to govern. Oh! you have planned cunningly, and things look well for you, but I say that they shall not prosper.
“The curse is on you, Ignatio, Lord of the Heart, for all your high-built hopes shall fall like a rotted roof, and never shall the eagles of that empire you have dreamed of be broidered on your banners. Slaves are the people you have toiled for, and slaves they shall remain, for by the crime to which you gave consent, Ignatio, you have rivetted their fetters. The curse is on your child, Maya,—never shall it live to become a man: the curse is on your husband,—his hair shall not grow grey. But heaviest of all does the curse rest upon you, false Lady of the Heart, you, whose life is one long lie; you, who forsook your faith and broke your oath; you, who turned you from your people and from the law of your high and ancient house, that you might win a wandering white man to your arms. Woman, we shall meet no more; but in the hour of your last misery, and in the long, long ages of the eternal punishment, remember the words that I speak to you to-day,”—and, shaking his withered arm in our faces, Mattai turned and limped from the chamber.
He went, and we sat gazing at each other in horror, for though we none of us had any faith in the god he worshipped, in our hearts we felt that this man spoke truth, and that evil would overtake us. For a moment Maya hid her face in her hands and wept; then she sprang up, and a fire in her eyes had dried her tears.
“So let it be,” she cried, “I care nothing. At the least I won you, my love, and for some months, through all our troubles, I have been happy at your side, and, come good, come ill, nothing can rob me of my memories. But for you I fear. Husband, I fear for you——”
Then, her passion past, she flung herself into his arms and again began to weep.
In due course the child was born, a beautiful boy, almost white in colour, with his mother’s star-like eyes; and on this same night we learned that Mattai had died in much torment, and that Nahua was delivered of a son.
Eighteen days went by, and Maya, new-risen from her bed, was seated with her husband and myself, while behind us stood a waiting-lady holding the sleeping infant in her arms, when it was announced to us that an embassy of the great lords of the Council sought speech with her. Presently they entered, and the spokesman, the Lord Dimas, bowed before her and set out his mission, saying:
“We have come to you, Lady of the Heart, on behalf of the Council and of the people, to rejoice with you in your great happiness, and to lay certain matters of the state before you. For some months the people have grown weary of the oppressions and cruelties of Tikal, who in defiance of the laws of the land has put many to death on suspicion of their being concerned in plots against his power. Further, but yesterday it came to the ears of the Council, through the confession of one whom he had employed to execute his wickedness, that a plan was laid to murder your husband, your child, and the Lord Ignatio here.”
“Indeed,” said Maya, “and why was my name omitted from this list?”
“Lady, we do not know,” he answered, “but it seems that the assassins had orders to take you living, and to hide you away in a secret part of Tikal’s house.”
Now the señor sprang to his feet and swore a great oath to be avenged upon Tikal.
“Nay, lord,” said Dimas, “his person is holy and must not be touched, nor need you have any further fear of him, for those whom he corrupted await their trial, and he himself is watched by day and night. Also, not for long will Tikal remain cacique of the City of the Heart; for the Council have met in a secret session to which you were not summoned, and have decreed that he shall be deposed because of his iniquities, and in accordance with the desire of the people.”
“Can a cacique be deposed?” asked Maya.
“Yes, lady, if he has broken the law, for was not your father to be deposed for this same reason? Also, Tikal holds his place, not by right of birth, but by treaty. You are the true heir to Zibalbay, Lady of the Heart.”
“It may be so,” she answered coldly, “but I have renounced my claim and I do not desire to go back upon my word.”
“If you have renounced it,” said Dimas, “there is one to whom it passes,”—and he pointed to the sleeping infant. “Yonder is the Child of Prophecy, hope of the people, and he it is whom we purpose to crown as our ruler, setting you and your husband up to act for him till he reaches his full age.”
“Nay,” said Maya, “for thus shall he become the mark of Tikal’s rage and be put to death,—openly or in secret, as it may chance.”
“Not so, lady, for in that hour when he is proclaimed, Tikal will be taken into safe keeping, where he shall abide for so long as his life lasts.”
“And when is this to be,” asked the señor.
“To-morrow, at noon, upon the pyramid, that the child may be solemnly anointed three days hence in the Sanctuary, on the night of the Rising of Waters.”
“It is foolish to crown a babe, and neither I nor my husband seek this greatness,” said Maya. “If Tikal is to be deposed because of his crimes, let one of the great lords be set in his place until the child is old enough to rule.”
“Although you and your husband are to command us in the future,” answered Dimas, sternly, “till then you must obey, Lady, for the voice of the Council is supreme, and it carries out the will of its founder and invisible president, the Heart of Heaven. The Council has determined that the heaven-sent child, of whom you are the earthly parents, must take his own.”
“As you will,” said Maya, with a sigh; and presently they went.
That evening the señor and I attended a feast at the house of one of the great nobles, whence we returned somewhat late. Having dismissed those who had escorted us, I walked with him as far as the door of his private chambers, purposing to leave him there; but he bade me enter, for he wished to talk with me about the events of the day and this forthcoming ceremony of the anointing of the child. Accordingly I did so, and, passing through the first chamber, we came to the second, beyond which lay his sleeping-rooms. Here we halted by the open window, and I approached a lamp, for I wished to smoke and had no light. As I bent over it, something caught my ear, and I listened, since it seemed to me that through the massive doors of the bedchamber I heard the sound of a woman’s voice crying for help. Instantly I flung them open and rushed thither by way of an ante-room, calling to the señor as I went.
I did not arrive too soon, for in the bedchamber itself a strange sight met my eyes. At the foot of the bed stood a cradle, in which lay the child, and near to it two women struggled. One of these—in whom I knew Nahua, the wife of Tikal—held a copper knife in her hand, and the other, Maya, gripped her round the body and arms from behind, so that, strive as she would, she could not free herself to use it. Still, of the two women, Nahua was the heavier and the more strong, and, though slowly, she dragged the other closer to the cradle. Indeed, as I reached the room, she wrenched her right arm loose and raised it to strike at the infant with the knife. But here the matter ended, for at that moment I caught her round the waist and threw her back, so that she fell heavily on the floor, letting drop the knife in her effort to save herself. She sprang to her feet and ran towards the door, there to be met by the señor, who seized her and held her fast.
“How came this lady here, Maya, and what does she seek!” the señor asked.
“I do not know how she came,” gasped his wife. “My waiting-women were gone, and I had begun to prepare myself for sleep, when, looking into yonder mirror, I saw her behind me, having in her hand a naked knife, and searching the room with her eyes. Presently they fell upon the cradle, and, lifting the knife, she took a step towards it. Then I turned and gripped her, holding her as well as I was able; but she was too strong for me and dragged me forward, so that had it not been for Ignatio here, by now she would have made an end of our son.”
“Is this true?” said the señor to Nahua.
“It is true, White Man,” she answered.
“Why do you desire to kill one so innocent?” he asked again.
“Is it not natural that I should wish to destroy the child who is to supplant my child, and to break the heart of the woman who has broken my heart?” Nahua answered, sullenly. “Amongst many other things, I have learned, White Man, of that ceremony which is to take place to-morrow, whereat my husband is to be deposed and my child dishonoured, that they may make room for you and for your child,—you, the white wanderer, and your son, the Heaven-born, the Fore-ordained!”
“What have we to do with these things, O woman with the heart of a puma?” he asked. “If Tikal is to be driven from his place, it is because of his crimes.”
“And if you and yours are to be set in it, White Man, without doubt it is because of your virtues; and yet, O black-hearted knave that you are, I tell you that I know all the truth. I know how you forged the writing, setting the false for the true within the holy symbol of the Heart. I know also that my father helped you to the deed, for although he is dead, he wrote down that tale before he died, and gave it to me, together with the ancient prophecy that you dared to steal from the holy Sanctuary. Yes, I have the proofs, and when needful I will show them. I did not come here to do murder, at least not upon the infant; but the sight of it sleeping in its cradle overcame me, and of a sudden I determined to wreak my wrongs upon it and upon its mother. In this I have failed, but when I denounce you to the Council, then I shall not fail; then you will be known for what you are, and die the death that you deserve.”
“It comes into my mind, husband,” said Maya coldly, “that if we would save our own lives we must rob this woman of hers. Such a doom she has richly earned, nor will any blame us when they learn what was her errand here.”
Now when she heard these words, Nahua struggled in the señor’s grasp, and opened her mouth as though to scream.
“Be silent,” he said, “if you wish to keep your soul in you. Ignatio, close those doors and give me yonder shawl.”
I did so, and with the shawl we bound Nahua’s arms behind her, fastening it over her mouth so that she could make no sound. Then we took a leather girdle and strapped it about her knees, so that she could not move, but lay helpless on the floor, glaring at us with her fierce eyes.
“Now let us take counsel,” I said.
“Yes,” answered the señor, “let us take counsel, for we need it. One of two things we must do; kill that woman, or fly the city, for if she leaves this place alive we are certainly doomed to death before the altar, ay! and the child also.”
“Fly!” said Maya, “how can we fly, when I am still weak and the babe is so young and tender? Should we succeed in escaping from the city and across the lake, certainly we must perish among the snows of the mountains or in the deserts beyond. Also, we should be missed and overtaken.”
“Then Nahua must die,” said the señor.
“Could we not swear her to silence if we released her?” I asked, for I shrank from such a dreadful deed, however just and necessary it might be.
“Swear her to silence!” said Maya contemptuously, “as easily might you swear a snake not to use its fangs, if one should chance to tread on it. Do you not understand that this woman hates me so bitterly, who she thinks has robbed her of her husband’s love, that she would gladly die herself, if thereby she could bring about my death and that of those who are dear to me. So soon as she could leave her bed of sickness she came here to taunt me with the doom she had prepared, knowing that I was alone. Then she saw the child, and so great was her desire for revenge that she could not even wait till the law should wreak it for her. No, the issue is plain: if we cannot fly, either she must die or we must. Is it not so, Ignatio?”
“It seems that it is so,” I answered sadly, “and yet the thing is awful.”
“It is awful, but it must be done,” said the señor, “and it falls on me to do it for the sake of my wife and child. Alas! that I was ever born, that I should live to stand face to face with such necessity. Could not another hand be found? No; for then we should confess ourselves as murderers. Give me a knife. Nay, my hands will serve, and this end will seem more natural, for I can say that when I found her in the act of murder, I seized her and killed her suddenly by my strength alone, not meaning it in my wrath.”
Now he stepped to where Nahua lay, and knelt beside her, and we two drew away sick at heart and hid our faces in our hands.
Presently he was with us again.
“Is it done?” asked Maya hoarsely.
“No; nor will be by me,” he answered, in a fierce voice, “sooner would I choke the breath out of my own body than strangle this defenceless woman, cruel-hearted murderess though she is. If she is to be killed, some other man must do the deed.”
“Then it will remain undone,” said Maya. “And now, since we have thus determined, let us think of flight, for the night draws on, and in flight is our only hope.”
“What, then, is to be done with this woman?” I asked. “We cannot take her with us.”
“No; but we can leave her here gagged and bound till they chance to find her,” answered the señor. “Hearken, Nahua, we spare you, and to do it go forth to our own deaths. May your fierce heart learn a lesson of mercy from the deed. Farewell.”
Two hours had gone by, and three figures, wrapped in rough serapes, such as the common people wore, one of whom, a woman, carried an infant in her arms, might have been seen cautiously descending the city wall by means of a wooden ladder that ran from its summit to a jetty built upon piers at the foot of it, which was used as a mooring-place for boats during the months of inundation. As was common at this season of the year, the lake was already rising, and floating in the shallow water at the end of the jetty lay a pleasure-skiff which the señor and I were accustomed to use for the purpose of fishing whenever we could escape for a few hours from our wearisome life in the city.
Into this skiff we entered, and, having hoisted the sail, set our course by the stars, steering for that village whence, a year before, we had embarked for the City of the Heart. The wind being favourable to us, our progress was rapid, and by the first grey light of dawn we caught sight of the village not a mile away. Here, however, we did not dare to land, for we should be seen and recognised; therefore we beached our boat behind the shelter of some dwarf water-palms three furlongs or more below the village, and, having hidden it as well as we were able, set out at once towards the mountains.
Passing round the back of the village without being seen, for as yet folk were scarcely astir, we began our dreadful journey. For a while Maya bore up well, but as the heat of the day increased she showed signs of tiring, which was little to be wondered at, seeing that she carried in her arms a child not three weeks old. At mid-day we halted that she might rest, hiding ourselves beneath a tree by the banks of a brook, and eating of such food as we had brought with us. In the early afternoon we started on again, and for the rest of that dreary day struggled forward as best we could, the señor and I carrying the infant alternately in addition to our other burdens.
At length the evening fell, and we camped for the night, if camping it can be called, to sleep beneath the shadow of a cedar-tree without fire and with little food, having no covering except our serapes. Towards morning the air grew cold, for already we were at some height above the lake, and the tender infant began to wail piteously,—a wail that wrung our hearts. Still we rose with the sun and went on our way, for it seemed that there was nothing else to do. Throughout that day, with ever-wearying footsteps, we journeyed, till at sunset we reached the snow-line, and saw before us the hunter’s rest-house where we had slept when first we entered the Country of the Heart.
“Let us go in,” said Maya, “and find food and shelter for the night.”
Now, our plan had been to avoid this house and gain the pass, where we proposed to stay till daybreak, and then to travel down the mountain slopes into the wilderness.
“If we enter there, Maya, we shall be trapped,” said the señor; “our only safety lies in travelling through the pass before we are overtaken, for it is against the law that any of your people should follow us into the wilderness.”
“If we do not enter, my child will die in the cold,” she answered. “You were too tender to secure our safety by putting that would-be murderess to death; have you, then, the heart, husband, to kill your own child?”
Now at these words I saw the señor’s eyes fill with tears, but he said only:
“Be it as you will.”
By now, indeed, we understood—all three of us—that if we would save ourselves we must suffer the child to die, and, however great our necessity, this we could not do. So we went up to the house and entered, and there by the fire sat that same man and his wife whom we had found in this room a year ago.
“Who are you?” he cried, springing up. “Pardon, Lady, but in that garb I did not know you.”
“It is best that you should not know us,” said Maya. “We are wanderers who have lost our way out hunting. Give us food, as you are bound to do.”
Then the man and his wife, who were kindly people, made obeisance to us, and set of the best they had before us. We ate, and, after eating, slept, for we were very weary, bidding the man watch and tell us if he saw any stranger approaching the house. Before dawn he woke us, and we rose. A little later he came into my room and told me that a large body of men were in sight of the house. Then I knew that it was finished, and called the others.
“Now, there are three things that we can do,” I said: “fly towards the pass; defend this house; or surrender ourselves.”
“There is no time to fly,” answered the señor, “therefore it is my counsel that we fight.”
“It is your counsel that two men armed with bows” (for our firearms had been taken from us on the pyramid, and we had never been able to recover them) “should engage with fifty. Well, friend, we can try it if you wish, and perhaps it will be as good a way of meeting our deaths as any other.”
“This is folly,” broke in Maya; “there is but one thing to do; yield ourselves and trust to fortune, if, indeed, fortune has any good in store for us. Only I wish that we had done it before we undertook this weary journey.”
As she spoke, by the light of the rising sun we saw a great number of men forming a circle round the house. With them were several captains and lords, and among these I recognised Dimas and Tikal.
“Let us put a bold face on it,” said Maya. So we opened the door, walked out, and came into the presence of Tikal, Dimas, and the other lords.
“Whom do you seek, that you come with an armed force?” asked Maya.
“Whom should I seek but your fair self, cousin?” answered Tikal,—and I saw that his eye was wild, as though with drink. “If Nahua, my wife, had her way, she would have let you go, for she desires to see the last of you; but her will is not my will, nor her desire my desire, and as it chances we have come up with you in time.”
Maya turned from him with a scornful gesture, and addressed herself to Dimas, saying:
“Tell us of what we are charged that you follow us as though we were evil-doers.”
“Lady,” the old priest answered gravely, “it would seem that you have earned this name, you and your companions together. Listen: two days since you were missing, and the Lady Nahua was also missing. Search was made, and at last your private apartments were broken open, and there she was discovered bound and gagged. From her we learned the secret of your flight, and followed after you.”
“Did she, then, tell you why we fled?” asked Maya. “Did she tell you that she crept to my chamber like a thief in the night, and there was found in the act of doing murder on my child?”
“No, Lady, she told us nothing of all this. Indeed, her manner was strange; for, so soon as she was recovered somewhat, she took back her words, and said that she knew naught of you or of your plans, and that if you had fled we should do well to let you go before worse things happened. But, knowing that for all this she had reasons easy to be guessed, we followed and found you, and now we arrest you to answer before the Council for your great sins, in that you have broken your solemn oaths by attempting to leave the land without the consent of the Council, and have added to your crimes by taking with you this child, the Heaven-sent deliverer, on whom rest the hopes of our race.”
“If we have broken our oaths,” said Maya, “we broke them to save our lives. Were we, then, to stop in the city till the knife of the assassin found us out? On the very night of my marriage a murderer was set upon my husband, and perhaps one stands there”—and she pointed to Tikal—“who could tell us who he was and whence he came. Three days ago another murderer sought the life of our child, and that murderer the wife of the Lord Tikal. Is it, then, a sin that we should take from the land one whose life is not safe within it.”
“All these matters you can lay before the Council, lady,” answered Dimas, “and if Nahua is what you say, without a doubt she must suffer for her crime. Yet her evil-doing cannot pay for yours, for when you found yourself in danger, you should have claimed protection from those who could give it, and not have betaken yourselves to flight like thieves in terror of the watch. Come, enter the litter that is prepared for you, and let us be going.”
“As you will,” she said; “but one thing I pray of you, let this man, my cousin, Tikal the cacique, be kept away from me, for the sight of him is hateful to me, seeing that, not content with plotting to kill my husband and my child, he puts me to shame continually by the offer of his love.”
“It shall be as you wish, Lady. Your husband and your friend can travel by your side, and guards shall surround your litter to see that none molest you.”
Then we started. Of our journey back there is nothing to tell, unless it be to say that after its own fashion it was even more wretched than that which we had just accomplished. Then, indeed, we were footsore, hungry, and racked with fears, but at least the hope of freedom shone before us like a guiding-star, whereas now, although we travelled in comfort, it was to find shame, exposure, and death awaiting us at last. For my part, indeed, this thought did not move me very much, seeing that hope had left me, and without hope I no longer wished to live. You, my friend, for whom I write this history, may think my saying strange, but had you stood where I stood that day you would not wonder at it. Even now I sometimes dream that I am back in the City of the Heart, and wake cold with fear as a man wakes from some haunted sleep. True, there I had place and power and luxury, but oh! sooner would I have earned my livelihood herding cattle in the wilderness than fret away my life within that golden cage. What to me were their banquets and their empty pleasures, or their petty strivings for rank and title,—to me who all my days had followed the star of my high aim, that star which now was setting. Maya and the señor had each other and their child to console them; but I had nothing except such friendship as they chose to spare me, the memory of my many failures, the clinging bitterness of conscience, the fear of vengeance to be wreaked, and the hope of peace beyond the end. Therefore I, an outworn and disappointed man, was prepared to welcome the doom that awaited me, but how would it be with the others who were still full of love and youth?
Late that night we reached the city and were led, not to the palace where we lived, but towards the enclosure of the pyramid.
“How is this?” asked Maya of the captain of the guard. “Our road lies yonder.”
“No, lady,” he answered, “my orders are to take you up the stairway of the pyramid.”
Now Maya pressed her face against the face of her child and sobbed, for she knew that once more we must inhabit the darksome vault where her father had been taken to die. They led us up the stair and down the narrow way, till we stood in the lamp-lit hall, and heard our prison gates clash behind us. Then they gave us food and left us alone.
Never did I pass a more evil night; for, strive as I would to win it, sleep fled from me, and I tossed upon my couch, wondering where my bed would be on the morrow, after we had stood before the Council in the Sanctuary of the Heart, and Nahua had borne witness against us. I remembered that shaft before the altar, and seemed to hear the murmur of the water in its depths! Well, as I have said, I did not fear to die, for God is merciful to sinners; but oh! it was dreadful to meet this liar’s doom, and to remember that it was I who brought the señor here to share it.
As I mused thus, even through the massive walls of the vault I heard a woman scream, and, springing from my bed, I ran into the central hall, where the lamps burned always. Here I met Maya, clad in her night-dress only, and speeding down the hall, her wide eyes filled with terror.
“What has happened?” I said, stopping her; and, as I spoke, the señor came up.
“Oh! I have dreamed,” she gasped. “I have dreamed a fearful dream. I dreamed that my father came to me, and—I cannot tell it—the child—the child——” and she broke down utterly, and could say no more.
“This place is full of evil memories, and her strength is shattered,” said the señor, when we had calmed her somewhat. “Come back, wife, and sleep.”
“Sleep!” she answered. “I do not think that I shall ever sleep again; and yet, unless I sleep, I shall go mad. Oh! that vision! Truly the curse of Mattai has taken hold of me.”
Some few hours later we met again in the great hall, but Maya said nothing of her dream, nor did I ask her to tell it, though I could see from her face that it was not forgotten. We ate, or made pretence to eat, and sat for a while in silence, till at length the gates opened, and through them came Dimas and some companion priests. Bidding these to stand back, he advanced alone and greeted us kindly.
“I am grieved,” he said, “that you should again be called upon to occupy this gloomy lodging; but I had no choice in the matter, since I am but the servant of the Council, and its commands were strict. It was feared lest the infant might be spirited away, were you left at liberty.”
“It will soon be spirited away, indeed, Dimas,” said Maya, “if it be kept here in the darkness. Already the child pines—within a week he will be dead.”
“Have no fear, lady; your imprisonment is not for long, for this very night, the night of the Rising of Waters, you will all of you be put upon your trial before the Council in the Sanctuary, and charged with the crime of attempting to escape the land.”
“Is there no other charge?” asked Maya.
“None, lady, that I have heard of. What other charge should there be?”
“And what will be the verdict of the Council?”
“I cannot say, lady, but I know that none wish to deal harshly with you, and if that charge which you bring against the Lady Nahua can be proved, it will go in your favour. The crime you have attempted is a great one, both in our eyes and still more in the eyes of the people, for now they talk day and night of this Deliverer who has been born to them, and they will not easily forgive those who strove to take him from them. Still, I think that upon certain terms the anger of your judges may be appeased.”
“What terms?” asked Maya.
Now Dimas hesitated, and answered:
“By the strict letter of the law, if your offence is proved against you, you are worthy of death, every one, unless you yourself are held inviolate because of your hereditary rank as Lady of the Heart. But it may be that the Council will not exact the extreme penalty. It may be that it will satisfy itself with driving these strangers from our borders instead of driving them from the land of life.”
“Yet one of them is my husband, Dimas.”
“True, lady, but the child is born!”
“I cannot be parted from my husband. Better that we should die together than that we should be parted. If the people have no need of him, neither have they any need of me; let us bid them farewell and go free together. I am weary of this land, Dimas, for here murder dogs our steps and I am in terror of my life. I desire nothing from my people save liberty to leave them.”
“But, Lady, your people desire something from you; they desire the child. Of these strangers they would be rid by death or otherwise, and you—though of this I am not sure—they may allow to accompany them; but with your child they will never part, for he is their heaven-sent king, the Son of prophecy. It comes to this, then, that if the Council should exercise its prerogative of mercy,—as it will do if I and my party have sufficient weight,—at the best you must choose between the loss of your husband or of your son.”
Now the face of Maya became drawn with pain, so that she looked as though age had overtaken her. Then she answered:
“Go, tell those that sent you, Dimas, that these are the words of Maya, Lady of the Heart: My child is dear to me, for he is flesh of my flesh; but my husband is yet dearer, for he is both flesh of my flesh and soul of my soul. Therefore, if I must choose between the two, I choose him who is nearest; for I may have another child, but never another husband.”